


Nightmares

by reliquiaen



Series: Skimmons Week 2014 [2]
Category: Agents of SHIELD - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquiaen/pseuds/reliquiaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And the panic resurfaced, crashing against her lungs, drowning her, filling her chest with ice. " - Post ep22. Prompt two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

No warning before the flash of panic that jolted her upright. None. There was a moment of confusion in the wake of her heart lurching her into abrupt alertness. The organ pounded in her ribs and it took Skye a moment to calm down, to unclench her fists from the bed sheets and remember to breathe.

_Just breathe._

She ran an unsteady hand through her now damp hair and sighed. It would take her hours before she could fall back to sleep. At least. The panic never faded without leaving her in a broken mess, so she pushed her legs over the side of the bed and stared at her knees for a long minute.

Once she had her respiration back to a comparatively normal rate, she rolled her neck, hand reaching across the bed. And only then did she realise she was alone. The other side of the mattress was empty. Cold.

And the panic resurfaced, crashing against her lungs, drowning her, filling her chest with ice. Maybe it had all been real after all. Maybe she was alone. This was a Hydra cell and the rest of her team, her friends, her _family_ were gone. Trapped on the ocean floor, shot, broken. Dead.

A quiet whine vibrated through her diaphragm before she could stop it. Desperately now, Skye staggered to her feet, fingers scrabbling at the door handle. It needed to open. She couldn’t be trapped here. No. Please.

The door made a soft sound as it swung inwards and Skye collapsed against the frame; grateful beyond words that she hadn’t been hallucinating. So it wasn’t a cell. Of course not. Why would a cell have that wonderful bed in it? Why would a cell have her clothes strewn across the floor and Jemma’s unobtrusive neatness tucked about the dresser, the cabinet, the table? All the air whooshed out of her in relief.

Still. There wouldn’t be sleeping yet. Not after that. And Jemma’s absence was cause for concern. So on jellied legs she stumbled down the corridor, wondering where she might be.

It was the scent of camomile tea drifting from the commons that clued her in. Skye poked her head around the doorframe, just to be sure. Jemma was facing the sink, hands clasped white-knuckled against the edge of the bench, shoulders obviously tense.

Quietly, Skye padded over to her, hands instinctively reaching up to knead the other woman’s shoulders. Instantly, Jemma sank back into her, hands relinquishing their death grip on the counter. She turned then, wrapping her arms around Skye’s middle and burying her face in her shoulder.

“What are you doing awake?” Jemma mumbled into her collar.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she murmured back. “You?”

The quiet, “Same,” was accompanied by a constriction of Jemma’s arms. “Nightmare?”

Skye’s exhalation was with the sole necessity of breathing in the smell of Jemma’s shampoo. It was reassurance that this wasn’t a dream – something to be snatched away cruelly by the rising sun. “Yes. I was so alone. You were gone. Everyone was gone.”

Jemma’s hands tightened in the fabric of her shirt. “I’m here. We’re fine.” The ‘ _for now_ ’ was left unspoken, but they both knew it was there. It hung over their shoulders, tinting every new moment with worry. But it was a ‘for now’ that meant safety too. Even if only for a short while.

So Skye pulled Jemma that little bit closer and held on for dear life.

“We’re okay,” Jemma repeated. It sounded more like a mantra for her own sake than for Skye. But that didn’t matter. The intent was the same either way.

“I’m getting sick of not sleeping, Jem,” Skye tried to joke. The words came out strangled so her attempt at humour fell flat. But she felt Jemma’s ribs shiver in a soft laugh anyway. Maybe it was forced. That didn’t matter either.

“Me too,” she agreed.

“Do you think the camomile will help?”

“It can’t hurt.”

They stood wrapped around each other until the kettle whistled. Even then, they let go reluctantly and never moved so far away that they couldn’t feel the other right there beside them. In a world where people were vanishing faster than they could reach out, the solidity of company was more than welcome. Having someone to hold onto made this terrifying new reality that much more bearable.

So when the tea was done (and Skye didn’t normally drink tea, but this seemed like an alright exception), their hands automatically sought out the other, fingers twining together without thought. They nursed their cups and headed for the lounge; sinking into its unbelievably soft cushions. Jemma flicked the television on but left the volume on little more than a whisper.

Sounds were nice too, she said. It was quiet on the sea floor. Eerily so. Often she’d fall asleep with Skye’s voice reading something from a novel or thesis. Jemma claimed she found it endearing how Skye stumbled over words with more than six syllables. Skye just felt like a bloody fool. But if it helped Jemma sleep then it was more than worth the humiliation.

For a while they just lay there, wound together on the sofa watching the colours play on the screen. Neither of them was paying it a great deal of attention. Skye was honestly more invested in the way Jemma’s fingers traced patterns across the palm of her free hand. It was nice. 

Nice in the same way Jemma’s head was tucked into her collarbone and the way their legs looped and the feel of Jemma’s hip beneath her arm. It was all nice. Relaxing. How Skye had ever slept without her was a mystery.

Surprising to both of them, it didn’t take long before they were succumbing to weariness again. (Although the clock on the wall ticking softly read two in the morning so it shouldn’t have been a shock.) She’d have a crick in her neck when she woke, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care right then. Sleep was a luxury.

It was in these quiet moments that Skye could forget what had happened. These moments where she could feel her soul sliding back to one piece. It would take a while – for all of them. Of course it would. But they’d be fine.

And waking in the morning (with her expected crick) to Jemma pressing a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth was just perfect. The whispered ‘I love you’s and unassuming way they somehow always managed to find each other during the day. They were the things that chased away her nightmares. They were the things that led her to sleep every night.

She would be fine. Skye knew the nightmares would haunt her. But she’d be fine.

Eventually.


End file.
